Sharpshade
original poetry.
with photos of lamps
made by Przemek Krawczynski
The shadow of the pencil-point
Fuels the shine of the lamp
Lighting this page,
For it is a shade electric:
A mirror tube of coal-glow
And lingering smoke hanging low
Clinging to the algid slopes.
O Kerosene quill, O wick Psyche,
O Beating fruition—
void-dwelling Trinity
In the imploding pyramid of this shadow
Of sharpened graphite.
Black fate – the Fates dulled – blinding fate:
Fate upon a three-dimensional impression of faces
Traced onto a waxpaper world
In the flickering shadows to bide.
In electric shade – grey shade – white,
Pressed sheaves into the coal fog,
Erasing the superfluous in the coal morn.
Shadow of a draft page illuminated
By the triforce of the coal-born—
Fossils – combustion – smoke,
And the shade that fuels it all—
—Sharpshade—
by discernment shorn.
@d-pend